


The Difference of Proximity

by Ukthxbye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, Mild Sexual Content, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pandemic Related, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Pre-Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Prompt Fic, Roommates, Sexual Tension, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28332999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ukthxbye/pseuds/Ukthxbye
Summary: “I don’t want to social distance from you so I guess I’ll just stay here.”Molly dropped her bag off her shoulder and her jaw nearly hit the floor with it.“Why are you here?” she whispered.“I...” he smiled, speaking with his hands, “Do not want to distance from you so I’m stay—”“I heard you the first time, but why, Sherlock… Why?”
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 20
Kudos: 80
Collections: The Annual Sherlolly Secret Santa Collection





	The Difference of Proximity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quarto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarto/gifts).



“I don’t want to social distance from you so I guess I’ll just stay here.”

Molly dropped her bag off her shoulder and her jaw nearly hit the floor with it. 

“Why are you here?” she whispered. 

“I...” he smiled, speaking with his hands, “Do not want to distance from you so I’m stay—”

“I heard you the first time, but why, Sherlock… Why?” 

He stared as she shook her head slow. His preparation only allowed for her to be okay with this arrangement, as she’d always been.

She shuffled and slumped on the other end of the sofa. 

“I...” He possessed many solid answers, but they left his mind like sand in a sieve as he gazed at her. Her own thoughts louder than his own. 

Molly leaned forward, rubbing her hands together. _As if she were washing them_ , Sherlock mused.

“Sherlock, it’s a lockdown. One I still have to go out in soon as they allow me,” she said as she turned her stare to capture his own.

He sat back, “As do I.”

She huffed, “Do you really?”  
  


“Crimes still happen…,” he murmured with a shrug. “Probably… yes, of course.”

Molly shook her head. “I’m at the bloody hospital, though. I’m right in the centre of research and—”

“Yes, I might need access there, anyway.”

She shot up from her seat. 

“It’s a fucking pandemic, Sherlock. Do you comprehend the magnitude? We know very little—”

He stood up as well. “I understand perfectly. I—”

She stepped closer to him, teeth gritted. “It’s a virus we have no idea a timeline on, the extent it will get worse, how it affects children…” 

Sherlock listened to the panic rise in her throat and spied the edge of her eyes glistening. He didn’t miss the redness in them now as she leaned so close. His own anxiety grew with hers.

He breathed out hard. “This arrangement assured Mrs Hudson and John and Rosie isolate properly.”

She frowned, but he noted it was in contemplation. “I… OK, there is logic in that,” she said as she sat down again, now closer to him on the sofa. 

Silence fell between them as he sat next to her, letting their sides touch.

He swallowed and spoke low. “Unless you want to be alone… I cannot prevent you from deciding to—”

“No… just… stop it fine we’ll do this,” she sighed and a tiny smile crept in. “It’s a helluva thing to go through by yourself.”

“Excellent! I’ve already set up the guest room.”

“You know your impertinence is astounding sometimes.” she said as she leaned back. 

He chuckled lightly. “Exceedingly. It’s a Holmes trait. Though I hope my brother is much too occupied to bother us.”

Her thoughts yelled at him, but she gave all manner of calm outwardly. As she’d always done. In dark moments of regret, he questioned her natural inclination to do whatever he asked. Even Now. 

“Nothing left to do except decide dinner.”

He stood up. “I ordered food.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Sherlock showed his unlocked mobile screen at her and the order. “Not on full lockdown yet. And it’s enough take-out for a couple days for me.”

She smiled at his choices in meal, and he returned the smile. He sat in the chair across from the sofa. Her favourites from Indian takeout near her. They’d shared such a meal one evening when he worked on a case with her. He’d noted it, stored in her room in his mind, piled up in imaginary file cases with every other tiny fact and preference. Convinced that it’s what friends do. As his eyes strayed over her form now, her gaze down turned to her hands, already washed raw.

Both sat quietly, ignoring muffled buzzes in their pockets from mobile. 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen, Sherlock,” she half whispered into the silence as if it was worse than any words said. The relief that settled in his chest agreed with her.

“Fascinating place to be in,” he sighed. “Just enough on the inside to be truly afraid,” 

“You aren’t afraid that…” She let her voice trail off, and he watched her brow furrow. 

He only shocked his head slowly as they locked in a knowing stare. Time can go by, but they both understood the difference of proximity. 

They’d spent the last few years in a heady mix of _almost_. But work and life produced an easy distraction. They no longer denied their love, even if the words never left their lips again.

But he needed healing from life changing lies laid bare. She patiently remained herself and his gratitude spilled over, but never beyond anything before that phone call. If she dated, he said nothing on the matter. John gave up the ghost of pushing them together. Love isn’t just for Sherlock John resigned to himself 

The knock at the door broke the moment, and he breathed out hard as he leapt up to answer it. She stood up as the scent of food wafted across the room and followed him to the seats at the kitchen counter.

He pushed her meal in front of her, stuffing a papadum in his mouth.

She opened up her plastic fork but only stared at her lamb saag. He glanced over between bites and sighed. 

“Eat, Molly. The world can’t be saved if you don’t.”

“Promise?” she murmured, still staring at the food. 

“World’s bad enough, we don’t need you giving it more power than it deserves. Eat. It feels normal and grounding… trust me, I know.”

She licked her lips and put her fork in and took a bite, her eyes closing as she chewed. She swallowed, “It is fantastic… OK, you’re right”

He smirked. "Of course I am… I’m always —"

“Oi! Still my house. Only so big for that…” she motioned at his head. “Ego of yours.”

He groaned, but she elbowed his arm. “Anyway, want to discuss a tidying up schedule?”

He complained, but the normalcy warmed his heart and for a little bit, they both forgot everything else. 

  
  
  
  


-:-

The weeks dragged and sped past. He still insisted John and Rosie isolate even as restrictions were lifted, so video chats about the day reached Molly’s ears as she moved around the flat on days off, stopping for a moment to help Sherlock as he assisted Rosie with homework. He told her about cases and Molly interjected if he strayed to recollection not appropriate for children.

One such afternoon Rosie did what most 5-year-olds do; ask questions over Zoom.

“Uncle Sherlock, can I tell you something?”

Sherlock paused his story. “Yes… you can always tell me anything… within reason once you’re older if you happen to get into dru—” Molly elbow in his side stopped him and he glanced at her and her censuring raised eyebrow. He looked down and back up as he lifted his teacup. “ Yes Rosie, you may tell me anything: 

“OK… You and Molly should kiss.’”

Sherlock nearly spit out his tea. 

Molly’s careful, composed voice answered. “What do you mean, Rosie?”

“You should kiss like the prince and princess in my story.”

Both Molly and Sherlock breathed out easier.

“Ok dear, but why Sherlock and I?”

Sherlock nodded, “We aren’t a princess or prince.”

“Because you live together and people who live together kiss.”

“My Mummy and Daddy lived together and kissed all the time I saw a picture. Daddy, come here! You and Mommy kissed all the time because you lived together, am I right?” Rosie yelled.

Sherlock and Molly exchanged a quick glance before John came into view.

“What did you say?”

Rosie huffed, “Just said that you and mommy kissed.”

John snickered, “Yes, we did what does—”

  
  


“Because you lived together.”

“Well, that’s… not really the reason… why is this relevant?”

Sherlock and Molly sat in tense waiting for the original question to drop.

“Well, Aunt Molly and Uncle Sherlock live together, so I think they should kiss like the prince and princess in my story. I’m writing you remember Daddy with the dragons and fairies. It’s gonna be so famous I read it to you yesterday you said you liked it, remember? So they should kiss—” Rosie rambled on, but she stopped for a breath and John interjected.

“Rosie… it’s not. It’s not the same in real life... yeah?”

“Why not?”

“Because Sherlock and Molly are just friends. Friends don’t have to kiss if they live together.”

“You lived with Uncle Sherlock so—”

“No, we never kissed either,” John chuckled.

Sherlock watched the wheels turn in Rosie’s head. 

She smiled “OK… can I go play on my tablet?”

John glanced at Sherlock and Molly and back to Rosie, “Sure, darling. Say bye”

“Bye Aunt Molly and Uncle Sherlock!” She shouted with a quick wave as she skipped off.

Both Sherlock and Molly breathed out in relief.

John cleared his throat, “So why haven’t—”

“Nope,” Sherlock said as he slammed the laptop closed. 

-:-

  
  


She’d taken the week off to catch up with some family very social distantly. He learned names of cousins and aunts and family secrets. It wasn’t a case, but it interested him, nonetheless. 

Her team had noted the tissue damage in Covid deaths, particularly neurological, passing on the research, and it helped with drug treatments options. Vaccine trials began according to the news, but still early days. Sherlock asked for details, offering his own critiques and thoughts. But he always thought on the chemical level and out of his depth, no matter the investigation he did. 

That evening started normal enough. He sat in his dark blue silk robe pulled tight around him, sulking because there were no cases to solve even over video chat with Lestrade. He ignored Sherlock’s texts, and Sherlock eventually tossed the phone aside with a grunt. 

She’d opened a bottle of French wine, and it piqued his interest for once. He’d never missed France until now, but the bouquet of violets and strawberries drew memories. He asked her if she travelled there.

“Yes” was all she said, but her thoughts ran across her face like ghosts. She’d been too cheerful lately, he mused, but tonight everything cracked through. 

He stared as she looked at him, but not at him or anything in the room. 

“Molly, you aren’t OK.”

Her mouth gaped open, but nothing escaped. 

He shifted forward in his seat. “If you need to speak about it… I understand… I’m... here.”

“I don’t know… God, you know how awful that is,” Molly swallowed hard. He could hear a lump growing exponentially, threatening to choke her. “I recognise I’m just one person. We are so… there’s so few of us.”

He nodded as he stood, walking close to her. “I do comprehend the... weight of such responsibility. “

“I just… I know it will change but… it might not and this is just…. How we live… and die.”

The tears fell suddenly; the lump making speaking impossible as she tried to speak, but her voice hitched. Sherlock reached out in instinct but withdrew as quickly. 

She struggled with her phrasing with a sniffle as she said, “Just fucking hug me, Sherlock… if you want to just do it. I can’t—” 

Her words cut off as his arms wrapped around her, her sobs deepened as she buried her face in his chest. 

Losing control is familiar to him. He never sought it. Even with drugs it was controlled madness, calculated clarity or numbness if he so required.

But the spiral he sensed as her hot tears soaked his shirt, the desire flowed through his veins cold. He’d avoided it for years, and it showed up at the worst moment. He should have expected it, the isolation and tedium in an endless march of 24 hours a day he can’t fill anymore. His hand rubbed her back and up to her skull to comfort her. 

This isn’t Moriarty, some network he can take down and save the world, or at least London. Earth shifting forced changes scratched at old scars, awakening dead nerve ends that required more than wine.

But she, so small and fragile in his arms, stirred newer scars. Ones he’d noted and ignored for four years. He always cared. So deep it appeared indifference when it really was self preservation.

She’s not fragile, he reminded himself. Never was, and as her sobs stopped, she pulled away.

“Thank you,” she sighed as she wiped her eyes with the heel of her hands and she looked at his shirt and gasped, “Oh I’m sorry I—”

“It’s fine… really, you don’t have to be so stoic that you fall apart and wet my shirt with your tears. Try smaller cries, but more often, perhaps?”

She took his small joke well to his relief, and half smiled. His chest warmed despite the tears cooling against his skin. 

“Distraction,” she said as she grabbed her glass and poured an unsteady second glass. He studied her shaking hands, glad to see the expensive hand cream he bought her helped with the multiple washings.

“Talk to me about anything… anything but…” she gestured at the window, “All this.” 

He cleared his throat, grabbing up his own wineglass and downing it. 

“Ash.”

“Ash?”

“I know… how to categorise any ash I encounter. It’s not something most want—”

“I do.”

“I… sorry?” His brow knitted as he stared at her. 

“We all have something we hyper focused on and became absolute nerds for.” She smiled as she said, “It’s fascinating to learn whatever that is.”

“I… I guess so.”

She stepped past him, her knee brushing against his. He stared at his knee, noting a tingle. He’d felt it more often lately as they casually brushed against each other in the hallway, or in the kitchen when he helped with dinner. 

“So is it just smoking ash or did it also work for, say, other materials like building, paper… organic matter?” she asked with earnest as she set her glass down. 

He licked his lips, leaning back in the chair. “Most detailed on smoking, but… I have a system for the others as well.”

“Interesting. There are systems for everything really,” she said as she picked up her glass again. “Has to be. I appreciate them with my work… thought the human body likes to do anything but remain in the system we set for it.” She chuckled to herself.

“What’s your… niche interest, or should I guess?” Her eyes lifted and met his as he spoke. 

“I could just tell you… ‘’ Molly shrugged When he said _I guess_ he noticed a glow in her eyes. She couldn’t resist the game either, he mused. _How have I missed that all these years?_

She smirked “But what’s the fun in that?”

This gave him pause, stirring an unexpected sensation under his ribs, as did her wording. The game, though simple as it is, possessed its own element of danger. Much like the brushing of her knee against his, the awareness tingled. He reminded himself to control the narrative. 

He cleared his throat. “Cat breeds?”

She shook her head dramatically. “Too easy… and no. Very cursory knowledge of that beyond knowing Toby’s “ 

He steepled his fingers, “Just a test.”

“A test?” her eyebrow rose, mirroring his own. 

A tiny smile escape as he said, "Yes… to see what you volunteer without prompt." 

Molly licked her lips. “Ah... That’s the game within the game. I see now.” 

“Do you?”

“You’re the genius then… suss it out. I’ve got all night.”

“You have more than one.”

She huffed before taking a deep gulp of wine, “Brilliant deduction”

“You’re a bit more sarcastic when you’re on your second glass”

“That’s observation, not a niche interest,” she countered. 

“No… yes. Anyway,” he said, taking a sip of his own wine. She’s properly distracted now at last, he thought. 

“Do we need to make rules about how many guesses you’re allowed?” she said as she set down her glass. 

He stood, the need to expend some energy washing over him. “As there is no prize to be won, I see no need to add any incentive other than wiling away the hours staving off boredom as best we may in the circumstances.” 

“I mean to say there could be some sort of reward… or wager.”

Her stare held his. 

“If you want,” he glanced away, “I assume something—”

“Kiss my cheek.”

“Hmm?” A slight panic crept in his voice and he swallowed hard to push it down. 

Molly stood, “Twice you’ve kissed the right. Give them left some attention… it’s only fair.”

He closed his eyes, feeling every chemical change flowing and knowing every answer and still lost entirely in it. 

“It’s a bit like a child's game,” he said, too quick and loud.

He noted her face drop. The look so practiced regarding him and his terrible words. She’d told him so many times, so calm and delicate when he knew inside she fell apart.

“I’m sorry…” he breathed in and out, “I think I’m just tired from doing… nothing. Out of my depth, that’s all.”

She looked down at her feet as she spoke, “I understand it… I’m sorr—”

“No,” He shifted fast in front of her, “Do not apologise. That is mine to do alone.”

And without another word, his lips found her left cheek. He meant to lift right away, but he lingered there a moment more. Her breath caught, and it broke the spell.

He stepped back, letting her search his face and eyes with her stare. His dropped to her lips and chest, rising and falling. He showed his own signals, but he hoped she couldn’t read them. 

“If you don’t mind… I’m going to just go to sleep… yes.”

And with that he turned from her, pushing into the dark of the hall and his room. He wondered if she noticed his shivering as he flopped onto his bed. 

  
  


-:-

“Perhaps I need to go back to 221B.”

He’d mumbled it in the most odd way, he thought to himself. As if he didn’t know the person who said it. They’d just had an argument. A simple one, but the tension remained crackling across the room.

“Maybe you should… we want to remain friends, yes?” she sighed through her nose, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“Friends… yes” He drawled out the last word, staring at her with half-closed eyes.

His tone shoved questions into her mind, and her eyes shut tight. He hated every _almost_ moment like this and they stored them up like useless gold. You can’t eat gold and it can’t buy what she wanted. It was always him and he knew she knew when he stayed, it would ache. She’d fooled herself that it wouldn’t be this awful, and he let her. He hated himself for it.

  
  


“I don’t want to fight you, Molly.” 

“You… what’s happening?”

“We are arguing I believe.”

She shrugged in obvious confusion. “But why does it matter?”

“Excellent question, it was about the dishes. Well… the bread pans since I discovered sourdough this week. Need to feed it tomorrow by the way,” he cocked his head. “Awfully domestic.”

“Yes.. I know how you are,” she said with a bite. 

He hated that edge of anger from her now. But not how she’d imagine, he thought. A clear sign of his failure and he no longer could remain unaware of it. A new language, he learned, like ash from their fires. 

He swallowed hard. “And you expect better every time.”

“I don’t want to change you, it’s not—”

“But perhaps I’m not as opposed to change as I would seem?”

“Yes, you are” she snickered as she met his stare. 

“Pardon, but I believe this can go both ways,” he offered with a slight smile.

“Can it? Alright then,” she shrugged with a frown “So maybe change isn’t something I want either.”

He sensed her lie. She’d always wanted him. That never shifted or faltered. She only accepted it to some healthy level. But all those lines blurred when he moved in. So why not test the waters he’d consider all along, he mused. 

“Because you would have done something if you did?” he said with a raised eyebrow.  
  


“You came to my bed last night.”

He opened his mouth, but words flew out his head. He’d known she would be aware, but she appeared to be in deep slumber. The guest suite was unseasonably cool and he couldn’t shake the sense of the room being too large. It gnawed on his nerves until his feet found the floor and stepped silently to her bedroom. Her bedroom by all measure just as chilled, but he slipped under her duvet, shifting with caution until the warmth surrounding her spilled over to him. Her back to him, he watched the duvet lift near her rib cage until he fell into a dreamless sleep.

This morning they woke to his leg touching hers, his hand above her head on her pillow. If she hadn’t been awake when he crawled his way into her bed, then no concern. But she was not asleep as they discussed the morning plans for the day. Some need neither could speak in a time when so much terrible swirled outside the door hung in the revealing moment and they deftly ignored it. _Practiced to an art_ , he thought. 

But sometimes it breaks inside. He sensed it in the air between them now, crackling like sparks as the hair on the back of his neck raised. 

She stepped close to him, at unease at first, until the temperature changed around them from nearness.

“What did you want, Sherlock? My duvet? You can have it. I can get another. Mattress? Same thing.”

“I—” his throat coated thick.

“Or do you want something else… to try anything else?” Her voice husky and abstract sensations under his skin turned concrete. He begged in his mind she’d not stare. But she did anyway. 

She shook her head and rolled her eyes . “Rude as always.”

As she stepped aside, his hand reached out, fingers laced around her ponytail gripping the back of her skull firmly but with care for neck as the other yanked her at her hip, pressing her against him. Her mouth opened to speak, and he paused searching her face for censure, but there was none, only shock. Her eyes dropped to his mouth as her hands moved up his chest. Breaths heavy matched between them and he allowed them to settle. He checked one more time for any resistance as he searched her uplifted eyes before taking her lips with his.

The years tasted bittersweet between their lips tightened and loosened in perfect tension. She received his unspoken words and answered with her own. Could it be a symptom of this unique experience? But that didn’t diminish the time spent before. It only allowed the truth without opportunity for them running away from it. Her kitchen… once a place of their darkest moment, he thought. Time and self-control mellowed the panicked confession, or so he assumed, but that’s only how they’d fooled themselves all long. Catalytic every caress of her lips against his, her tongue rubbing across his teeth. Begging for what they could have surrendered ages ago. 

They parted, sucking air into their aching lungs. The heat pouring off them in the flush of proximity. His fingers dug into her hip and he studied her gasp like starting an experiment, testing if he desired to test every hypothesis. 

He needed no more evidence of what to do next. 

“I love you.” He murmured with his chest, vibrating it out with a shudder. 

Her mouth opened as the words washed over her, her darkened brown eyes searching his.

“I know I always need to say it first.” He licked his lips as his eyes strayed to her lips. “But if that’s not as it was… as it always was…”

Her eyes fluttered shut as he released the grip at the back of her head, fingernails scratching along her hairline and her jaw, his thumb resting on her bottom lip. 

“Tell me, my dearest Molly,” he said low, pressing and tugging her lip down _with h_ is thumb, relishing the gulp in her throat as his gaze travelled down to her clavicle and back up slowly. He waited until she opened her eyes, heavy lidded and dark. “Speak the word and I will proceed as you wish. Nothing more… nothing less.” 

Their stares locked as she turned her head enough to kiss his palm, the tenderness washing over him, and yet, he wanted to bite those lips swollen. He dragged his thumb across her whole mouth.

The only clue needed revealed in the lifted corner of her lips.

“Ah… You want me to deduce it then.” He smirked as the tip of his tongue ran across his teeth as she nodded.

He leaned down, lips at her jaw, working a slow path back to her ear, and he added a tiny nip at the earlobe. 

She squeaked out, “I should... I—” 

Sherlock lifted his head and stared int into her dark eyes. “You should have never spoken to me. Or indulged me in one single thing I asked. Because I took… quite a bit,” he squinted and continued, “And when perhaps I could square the debt, I simply… didn’t. My ledger will always be in the red, but I’d rather attempt to balance it than ignore it.”

He paused and whispered, “Collect it from me… please.”

She half shrugged, “It doesn’t have to be sex… “

He nodded, his gaze dropping to her lips and back up half lidded.. “But… you do want that. Well, I want that if it isn’t obvious but—”

“Oh, I want that very much... want that.” she nodded, pursing her lips, her fingers curling against his chest. 

“Kitchen, sofa or the bed? Quick. Whatever your first answer is the correct one, always,” he murmured as he kissed her lips, drawing the bottom lips out with his teeth. 

“Bed,” she mumbled into his mouth as they kissed deeply again, tongue and teeth once more in perfect chorus. 

He broke the kiss and lifted her into his arms as she wrapped hers around, playing with hair at the nape of his neck in the most deliciously teasing way, he mused. A flashing thought of time wasted came, but he encouraged it into motivation to make up for every second lost because of choices, both between them and from others. 

He placed her on the bed with a gentle drop and threw off his robe aside. Setting a knee beside the interior of her leg, he nudged against it, directing its movement. He savoured her quickened breath before placing the knee on the bed, against the inside of the other leg. As he sat back on his legs, it spread hers. 

Her old grey t-shirt, well worn and misshapen. He’d watched her tug at it all day, as it dared to give him glimpses of her skin. It lifted just as she laid more on the pillow, the line of her hip showing. He studied the curved and shadow, running a ghosting finger beside her thigh until he reached the object of his new niche interest.

But when he glanced back at her face, he saw hesitations. Arguments swirling in her dark eyes as she closed them to a squint. 

He lifted his hand.

“I’ve decided you wanted my mouth doing something else, but if your own thoughts could quiet their yelling—”

“Yes, sorry... yes, you’re right… very right.” she bit her lip, and he considered kissing it until spied her hip again as she shifted. 

He leaned down, resting a hand on either side of her rib cage so he could savour it, brushing against his thumbs. The nerve endings in her skin react as well. His nose found the edge of her shirt, nudging it up to caress her hip bone. Her hand shot down, grabbing his hair.

“Wait…”

He sighed into her skin, lifting his head, “Yes?”  
  


“I love you.” She bit her lip and smiled, twisting a curl around her finger, tugging. “I just…”

He grinned, his heart full. “I love you too.” They stared for a moment as he flicked his tongue along the hip bone and her body clenched under the tease. “Now let me show you.” 

She reminded him the next morning his debt remained immense. He looked forward to paying it off as often as she wanted to collect. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Quarto for the story idea and being an awesome Secret Sherlolly!
> 
> Hope you like it.
> 
> self edited so if i miss stuff i'll fix them later.


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